


Oh, Comely

by foxontherun



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxontherun/pseuds/foxontherun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal discovers Will's a virgin while on a phonecall with him. He decides to use this information to his advantage, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Comely

Doctor Lecter answers the phone like he's out of breath.

 

"Hello?" He doesn't use any standard greeting, though Will would probably laugh if he had answered the phone with "Lecter residence..." Will suddenly feels self-conscious about the lateness of the phonecall, though the good doctor had assured him many times that he was welcome to reach out, no matter the time or the place. It's late, though, even given the time difference.

 

"Doctor Lecter." He can't seem to get past the greeting stage of the phonecall - the reasons he's calling stick in his throat like syrupy candy.

 

"Will, hello. What may I do for you?" Doctor Lecter doesn't seem phased by the fact that Will is calling him at 2 in the morning. Actually, where Will is, it's 4 in the morning. Makes little difference though, to people with normal schedules.

 

"I-" Will let's out a breath. Why again, was he calling? Because of the crime scene? Because he was tired of looking into the minds of killers? Because it was late and he was, once again, alone in a hotel room, having just consumed a few of those nip bottles of whiskey from his mini bar and called before he could think better of it?

 

"Will, is something the matter?" Fuck that vaguely paternal, concerned voice Hannibal does when Will is doing something out of the ordinary. If he never heard that voice again he'd be happy. He had called because he was lonely, damn it. That was the real reason. But real reasons are mighty easy to mask behind this confusing veil of doctor-patient friendship he and Hannibal had developed. He can't just say he's lonely, that would be too much. Too much, because it is more the truth than any crazy Will could hide behind.

 

"Maybe," Will answers, and it's not the truth, but it's not exactly a lie either. He sighs. "I'm sorry for calling you so late, Doctor Lecter. I just couldn't sleep." That part was the truth, if nothing else. Sleep has become elusive, like sand slipping through a child's fingers.

 

"Will, I've told you before, waiting hours are for patients. You should feel free to call whenever you feel like it." Doctor Lecter's voice is like a balm, soothing the jagged edges of Will's psyche. The smooth rounded edges of his accent catching on the hooks of Will's desires, making him shift in his chair, unwilling to give voice to his subconscious, even as it screams at him.

 

"Thank you, doctor," Will sighs out, shifting lower in his seat, his chin touching his chest, despondent. "It's just these murders..." he lets his voice trail off. What. What about these murders? Think up something quick, Graham. "Sexual murders are always the hardest," he chokes out, and no, that's not the way. That's not what he wants to get into, not right now.

 

"Ah," Doctor Lecter's voice soothes, even though made tinny by the phone extension. "Yes, I can understand how sexual murders could be especially troubling for you, Will." And what exactly does _that_ mean?

 

Did he say that aloud?

 

"I can imagine empathizing with a serial rapist could be troubling for someone with your gentle nature. Getting into their heads. Sharing a headspace with one who hates women, when you don't share their proclivities," Hannibal answers, and yes, it seems he did say that out loud. Good. Great. He tries to play it off like that's what has been the problem all along.

 

"Yes, yeah," he stumbles. "It's...uh...a different dimension of violence," he covers. Nicely played, Will. "Its harder to shake off."

 

There is a silence from the other end of the line. When Hannibal's voice echoes in his ear next, it seems as though the sound quality has changed. Amped up a bit. But that can't be the case.

 

"Will," comes his voice, hesitant but still assured, and how does he do _that_ , exactly. "Have you had sexual partners, in the past?"

 

No. No no no no. This is not how the conversation is going to go. The whiskey swimming along in his bloodstream is suggesting that he hang up. Slam the phone down now, before this can get more embarrassing. Will realizes he's let the silence go on for far too long.

 

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Will," Lecter's voice is like slick oil in an engine. Will feel's swept away by it. "If you lack sexual experience, sexually motivated murders must be that much harder to circumnavigate."

 

"This isn't why I called," Will blurts out.

 

"Isn't it?" Lecter questions, and Will is stuck. Isn't it? It might have been. He can't really tell, at this point. He called because he was lonely. Because Hannibal is the only friend whom he can really share himself with. And because...the other reasons don't bear thinking about. Shots in the dark. He's inexperienced and craving intimacy, that's all it is. There's no real attraction there, just a modified version of hero-worship and mutual respect. Attraction is something for someone else. And oh, dear, that silence again.

 

"Will," Lecter seems to hesitate, the roundness of his vowels caught on a slight intake of breath. "I'd like to try something," he finishes, and Will blinks down the end of the receiver.

 

"What kind of something?" He asks.

 

"A kind of guided meditation," Hannibal answers, and is it Will's imagination, or does he sound breathy? Excited? Will does have a very active imagination.

 

"Um," he can't really think of a reason not to, other than the fact that this conversation has been humiliating enough already. "What kind of guided meditation? Like a spirit walk?"

 

There is a definite pause on the phone now. "Will, if this makes you uncomfortable, you need to tell me to stop," Hannibal says, as if this is an answer. "This is a kind of...sexualized meditation. Something to release tension. If you aren't comfortable with this, you need to tell me."

 

Now his interest is really piqued. He's full to the brim with unconventional therapy, but this doesn't sound particularly sanctioned by the AMA. Or anybody, for that matter. Guided sexual meditation? Sounds like a kind of tantric garbage to him. But. He feels his body tensing up without his permission, his cock twitching in the scant confines of his briefs. He breathes out, slowly.

 

"I suppose I can't tell you if it makes me uncomfortable unless we begin," he says, and slides a hand down to rest at the junction of his hip and thigh. Guided meditation his ass. This sounds like phone sex, and he can't deny his body is ready, even if his mind is still screaming things about unorthodoxy and codes of ethics at him. And shouldn't Doctor Lecter be the one to have these thoughts?

 

"Good." Lecter answers, and Will can see the slight grin on his face even with a thousand miles between them. "Now Will, I want you to relax. Close your eyes. Are you in a comfortable position?"

 

"Comfy enough," Will answers, reclining a little more on the bed, and taking another swig from the last bottle of cheap whiskey the hotel stocked in the mini-bar. "Unless you want me to take my clothes off." It was meant as a joke, but somehow it came out of his mouth serious as the grave. Will winced.

 

"No, you may remain clothed for the time being." Hannibal is sensible as always. "Just listen to the sound of my voice, Will. I need you to answer some questions for me."

 

Will puffs out some air. He hates answering questions about himself, especially about his sexual experience, or lack thereof. "Have you ever experienced any kind of sexual desire, Will?"

 

"Yes," he scoffs. "I'm as human as the next man,"

 

"Will," Hannibal's voice seems smoother now, like crushed velvet, "there are people who don't experience sexual desire as such. I am just trying to ascertain a baseline. Have you ever had any time of sexual experience with another person?"

 

Will pauses. "I kissed a few girls when I was in highschool. One of them tried to..." he trails off.

 

"Yes Will?"

 

"She tried to suck...to fellate me. It was unsuccessful." Will hears, or imagines he hears, a slight inhale on the other end of the line.

 

"Unsuccessful how?" Lecter asks, finally.

 

"I couldn't get out of my head," Will answers, trying to tamp down his embarrassment. "She tried but...I couldn't...couldn't orgasm."

 

"Because you were too involved with your own thoughts?" Lecter asks, "Or hers?"

 

"A combination of both, I guess," Will answers, relaxing a little. "I kept seeing myself through her eyes. A means to an end. Just a tally mark for her final score, as it were."

 

"Ah," Hannibal says. "And this prevented you from trying again?"

 

"Well," Will replies, and hesitates. "I just haven't felt it's worth it, yet. I don't want to see that again, my desperate pathetic self trying to get laid. Once was enough."

 

There is another silence on the line. Then, Hannibal's voice. "Will, what do you fantasize about, when you masturbate?"

 

Will jerks the phone away from his mouth in surprise. "I...uh..." there is a patient silence from the other end of the line. He lowers his voice. "I'd rather not say."

 

"Can you be vague?" Hannibal's voice again, that lulling tone again. "Men or women? Or both? Do you fantasize about fellatio? Or intercourse? Or something else entirely?"

 

Will sighs. This isn't going to end properly, he can tell already. He can't be vague enough for Doctor Lecter not to pick up on the obvious truth. He's canny like that. "A combo platter?" He jokes desperately? And then more seriously, "It depends, really. I, uh, I fantasize about men and women equally. The sex act is less important than the...ultimate outcome." And there. He's said it.

 

"Is there anyone in particular you've been fantasizing about lately?" Hannibal asks, and Will definitely isn't imagining the hitch in his breath. "Doctor Bloom, perhaps?"

 

Will sighs, and rubs his thigh without really thinking about it. "No, not Alana. There's...there's nobody in particular.

 

"Will, I want you to relax while we're speaking about this." Hannibal sounds like he's brooking no negotiations. Will jumps a little.

 

"I'm relaxed," he lies, rubbing his thigh a little more firmly.

 

"You're not," Hannibal answers. "You're telling me half-truths, and you're tense about them. You should feel free to be open with me, I will not judge you." Will grits his teeth.

 

"Ok, there's someone I think about. He's a man. That's all I'm telling you," he says, aiming for defiant, but ending up at vaguely aroused and defensive.

 

 "Good," Hannibal sounds more relaxed himself. "And what form do these fantasies take? Do you take on the receiving end, or are you the one penetrating? Or is this a different scenario. Does he suck your cock, maybe?"

 

Will shudders. Hearing Hannibal say the word 'cock' is much more erotic than he would have expected, especially since he's imagined the man on many occasions on his knees before him, licking come from his sensually curved lips, or bearing down on him from above, panting, his own cock spasming inside Will as he spills his seed.

 

"I...uh," Will has to adjust himself in his underwear before formulating an answer. "I'm generally on the...receiving end? Jesus Hannibal this is so awkward."

 

Will hears Hannibal huff out a breath. "It is only as awkward as you want it to be, Will," Hannibal says gently. "Are you sexually aroused talking about this?"

 

There's a pause. "Yes," Will breathes into the phone.

 

"Then I'd like you to do whatever would make you feel the most comfortable to relieve that arousal," Hannibal says.

 

Another pause, while Will picks his jaw up off the floor. "You mean like...like phone sex?" He asks dumbly.

 

Hannibal chuckles. "I suppose you could think of it that way," he answers. "Or merely that I'm helping rid you of an itch that is interfering with the performance of your job."

 

"Doctor Lecter your bedroom talk needs some work," Will says, though his cock is definitely interested. He rubs a hand over it, and has to stifle his sharp intake of breath. Hannibal hears it, of course.

 

"I'd like you to touch yourself, Will," he says, and his voice is definitely lower. It occurs to Will for the first time that Hannibal may be as aroused by this as he is. The thought sends a jolt straight to his groin, and his hips buck up, seeking friction.

 

"Doctor Lecter," he says, almost groans, and he can't quite rein himself in this time.

 

"I want you to tell me what you fantasize about," Hannibal says, and Will tries desperately to see him, to see through the phone. He can picture Hannibal sitting with a glass of wine in his ridiculous library, suit immaculate except for where the line is ruined by his erection, lazily massaging himself through his pants. He gasps a little, at the thought.

 

"I fantasize about this man...taking me," he breathes. "Just straddling me and kissing me - my mouth, my neck, unbuttoning my shirt and - and playing with my nipples while he grinds down on me. We're both hard."

 

In his mind's eye, he can see Hannibal running one large, shapely hand down his own chest to his groin and squeezing. There is an intake of breath on the other end of the line, and he nearly loses himself to it.

 

"What else, Will?" Hannibal asks, and Will can see him spread his legs a little wider, running a teasing finger up his length, to just under the buttons of his trousers.

 

"I bet his neck is sensitive," Will says, and it's like he's on autopilot now. It's not a conversation anymore, it's like shadow-boxing. He can see himself suck an indelicate kiss just under Hannibal's jaw, over his adam's apple, at the juncture of where his collar bones meet. "Sometimes I just kiss but....sometimes I use my teeth."

 

In his mind, Hannibal's hips jerk up at those words. Dark bruises appear like a chain down his neck. "Does he like when you use your teeth, Will?" Hannibal asks. "Does he like you to be a little rough with him?"

 

"Yes," Will answers immediately, and he doesn't remember pushing his briefs down, but he has his cock in his hand and it's hard, straining, pre-come leaking down his fingers as he strokes himself. "He likes when I hurt him. He likes the rush. Because he knows he's the one who's ultimately in control."

 

The Hannibal in his mind has pushed his pants down as well, and is rubbing himself through the expensive silk of his boxer-briefs. His erection is impressive, a hard, thick shape staining the silk a damp dark blue. He thumbs the head of his cock and can't help a groan.

 

Was that a groan in his mind, or on the phone?

 

"What does this fantasy man do next?" Hannibal asks, and Will shakes his head, trying not to make any noise as he thrusts up into his fist. "He...he scrapes his teeth along my nipples and then he gets to his knees in front of me." He lets out a harsh noise. "He takes me out and runs his tongue along...along the head of my cock." He's bright red now, both with arousal and with the sharp pang of excitement he feels telling Lecter exactly what he images them doing together, under this veil of duplicity.

 

Fantasy Hannibal is so wet now, precome slicking down his shaft, and he's bucking his hips forward, swiping his thumb along the head of his uncut cock. Will hears a sharp intake of breath from the other line, as well as some rustling. He doesn't want to break this spell, but... "Are you...are you touching yourself?" He asks, both knowing the answer and not daring to hope.

 

There's a pause. Then - "Yes, Will," and Will feels a bolt of arousal run through him, hard and strong, almost painful, as fantasy Hannibal and reality Hannibal blend into one. He can see him so clearly, Hannibal, pulling his foreskin back, the pearly drops of precum that help slick his fist, one hand clenched around his phone's receiver. He lets out a long groan as his hand continues to work over his cock, imagining Hannibal, miles away, doing the same.

 

"I bet your neck is sensitive, Hannibal," he says. "I can imagine sucking on it. I can imagine you shoving me facedown onto your couch and opening me up," he pauses, gasping for breath, feeling his orgasm like a distant train whistling.

 

Hannibal's breath is coming just as unevenly now. "I'd like your teeth on me, Will," he says. "I'd like you to bite me until I cry out before I get my fingers inside you. I'm a surgeon, I know exactly where to touch you to make you scream."

 

Will is fisting himself hard and fast now, imagining Hannibal's long, delicate, steady fingers brushing his prostate, imagining pushing back onto them until it's not enough, and then begging for Hannibal's cock when he can't take it any more. He's moaning openly, hearing Hannibal's suppressed groans from the other end of the line. "I want you to fill me up," he gasps, tugging at his testicles, bucking up into his grasp. "Oh god, Hannibal, I want you to fuck me. I want your cock inside me." He hears Hannibal make a ragged noise, and then his orgasm is upon him, and he's shuddering, releasing, crying out as he spills against his own stomach, his hips juddering to a halt and his breathing fast and harsh. In his mind's eye he can see Hannibal, watch him react to hearing Will come apart over the phone, see him tug hard and fast at his cock, his hips arching off of the couch and spilling his own release all over his hands, making a bitten-off abortive noise as he tries to control himself, though his orgasm is clearly strong, given the amount of semen he's spilled over himself and the way his head snaps back, his hair sweaty across his forehead.

 

There are a few beats of silence.

 

"Good, Will," Hannibal says, and there's nothing in his voice to suggest he's just had a spectacular orgasm. "That was very good." Will can hear a hint of a grin hovering in the edges of Hannibal's voice, however.

 

"I'll see you next Thursday," Will says, his breathing even again, betraying nothing.

 

"Next Thursday at 7:30," Hannibal says.

 

Will hangs up the phone and let's his head loll back, thinking about Hannibal's neck, and nothing else.


End file.
